


Queen of Araluen

by penninghistory



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 03:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21439405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penninghistory/pseuds/penninghistory
Summary: Heavy is the head that wears the crown.
Relationships: Elizabeth/Morgarath
Kudos: 1





	Queen of Araluen

Elizabeth, former Baroness of Gorlan fief, muttered quietly in her sleep, feeling a light kiss pressed against her cheek. It had been weeks of hard sleeping, something she’d gotten used too. But, this had been one of the better nights of sleep, with some sort of calm finally taking over her mind.   
“Come on,” a voice broke through her unconsciousness, and she blinked her eyes open, looking into her husband’s eyes. She gave him a questioning look as he pulled her into a sitting position. She crossed her legs to allow him, to sit and rubbed her eyes lightly.   
“What’s wrong?” she asked, still giving him a questioning look.   
“Nothing is wrong,” Morgarath said, brushing a strand of red hair off of her forehead. “Everything is right, actually. Duncan is going to surrender today.”   
Eliza shook her head, smiling slightly. “No, he’s not,” she said. “You have to be lying…”   
He shook his head, and his hand went to cup her cheek. She pressed it into his hand, her eye closing as she did. “I’m not lying. You need to get ready.” His thumb brushed under her eye, and he pressed a quick, light kiss to her lips before getting up and letting go of her cheek. “We’ll be ruling before month’s end,” he said, before slipping out of the tent, pulling the flap closed behind him.   
It took her some moments to realize what was happening before, urgently, she stood out of bed, letting the blanket fall to the ground around her feet. Her simple nightgown was rumpled, her hair a mess. Duncan, surrendering. The thought sent a shiver down Eliza’s back, but of what she wasn’t sure. Fear, anticipation, or both? She wasn’t sure. She quickly chose a dress of red, with a simple trim. Her hair, she brushed quickly, simpling pulling it into a low ponytail, then stepping out into the early morning sun, nodding to a man closeby.   
She saw Morgarath standing, watching the enemy camp closely, a determined look on his face. She moved to stand by him, and he glanced at her, before looking back at the camp. “Are you enjoying this?” he asked her, and she gave a light shrug, not willing to reveal her turmoil.   
“A little,” she replied, honestly. “I mostly cannot wait for this war to be over. To see our children again.” He smiled at her and wrapped an arm almost protectively around her shoulder.   
“Soon enough, they will be princes and a princess. And you will be Queen.”   
Elizabeth sighed and looked away. “Rosalind was Queen,” she pointed out. “She was my friend, and now I’m taking her crown.”   
She felt a kiss being pressed to the side of her head, though she didn’t look back at Morgarath, she could sense a sense of worry in the touch. “It won’t be betrayal,” he whispered comfortingly.   
“But it is!” she took a deep breath and calmed her worried nerves. “She...she didn’t deserve to die the way she did, she was going to be a great mother and now…” Eliza took a shaking breath and looked at Morgarath. “Are you sure this will be right? That this is enough now?”   
“Everything is falling into place, love,” Morgarath said, smiling at her. “We’re rising up, and now we will be ruling. Our family,” he pressed her knuckles to his lips, a sly smile on his face, “where we were always meant to be.”   
Eliza nodded and looked towards the camp across the fork, finally allowing a small smile to grace her lips. That’s all she ever wanted. Her family in a good place. And if that good place was a throne, who was she to argue? 

It felt like forever before their herald called a warning to Morgarath and Elizabeth, who had been sitting down and eating a light meal. Eliza had been poking at it, her stomach in knots of fear, although Morgarath seemed to have no such qualms. She looked up at the call quickly, before settling when Morgarath places a hand on her arm. She nodded and took a deep breath, settling back and taking a long sip of her wine. She could taste the water that had been added to it and was slightly grateful for that. Although she wanted to get drunk, to try and forget this was happening, she would not like to appear drunk in front of a surrendering King. A King, who will now be without a throne, without a family, without a life.   
She looked at her husband and shook her head at him, standing and gesturing for him to stay seated and moving towards the edge of their camp.   
Duncan, once a proud and strong-looking man, looked tired and weak as he waited for something, anything to happen. She took him in, a slightly worried look on her face. Although she was several years older than him, she was still relatively young, still naive in a lot of ways. And this was one of them.   
“Lady Elizabeth,” Duncan said, almost sounding confused. “I assumed it would be your husband to greet me.”   
“Oh, he is eager too,” Eliza agreed, looking at her hands. “And you are still King. Please, call me Eliza.”   
Duncan sighed and looked at her guards. “Not for much longer. I assume, Eliza, that your husband has told you what I plan to do?”   
“He has. But that doesn’t mean I am happy about it.” He looked up at her sharply and she looked away, towards the trees. “We are not too different you and I. We both have to deal with him, each in our different ways.” She sighed and looked at Teezal, who was watching her with a slightly hard look. “But you are right, Duncan. You are no longer King. My husband is. Teezal, please take him to Morgarath. Gently. We don’t want to hurt him now.”   
Teezal nodded and lead the former King away, towards the table in the center of camp, and she turned back to the enemy camp, meeting a familiar gaze. Even from across the distance, the sandy hair was unmistakable and she nodded her head at the Ranger Commandant, hoping the gesture communicated the guilt she had across the distance.   
The guilt she had was eating her insides like a parasite, and when the sandy-haired man nodded back to her, she let go a sigh, barely audible, and turned away, squaring her shoulders with a shrug. She straightened slightly and made her way back to the table, to find that Duncan had already been taken to a tent, and Morgarath raised his glass to her.   
“To my Queen, long may she reign,” he said, and suddenly all the guilt she had forced away was back in her belly as she reached for her own glass to raise it.   
“To my King,” she replied, smiling lightly, hoping no one could tell how fake it was. “Long may he reign.”


End file.
